


you lift me up and (catch me when i'm falling for you)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pining, Poe Dameron has the worst crush anybody has ever seen, Poe Dameron hurts so pretty, it's embarrassing, mentioned Poe Dameron/Bastian/Karé Kun, mentioned Poe Dameron/Jessika Pava, pull yourself together Poe for fuck's sake, the Resistance rave fic nobody needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:06:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Heard there's gonna be a party this weekend," Finn says easily over breakfast. "About time, I mean, I was beginning to think the Resistance was so morally upright we'd never cut loose. All that 'decadent and loathsome Resistance' talk we got in trooper barracks, and I have to tell you, I haven't even seen <em>one thing</em> I was promised."</p>
<p>"...Huh," Poe says weakly, once he's swallowed the mouthful of caf threatening to choke him. "Yeah. Morally upright, that's us."</p>
            </blockquote>





	you lift me up and (catch me when i'm falling for you)

It's not that the Resistance is  _degenerate_.

( _Debauched_ , Poe's mind offers helpfully.  _Wanton_.  _Immoral_.  _Dissolute thrill-seekers, partying at the end of the world, you've barely even mourned your dead and you're already-_ )

_Unhelpful_ , Poe snaps at himself, shakes his head as if that'll clear it. The parties, the dancing, it's not like they're  _orgies_ or anything. It's just- when you fly so close to the edge, when your face is up against death at every second moment, there are ways and ways of living. The pilots started it, way back when. When Poe still thought he was serving a noble purpose flying for the New Republic Starfleet. Rapier Squadron alone in the hangar after everything that happened in OR-Kappa-2722, Poe still edgy with losing the Yissira Zyde and with knowing,  _knowing_ now like he hadn't before, that the First Order would stop at nothing to get what it wanted. Karé and Iolo passing a bottle of spirits cheap enough Poe's eyes watered at the fumes, and he'd tried not to see how Iolo's hands had shaken every time he took a sip.

("How many passengers, you think, on that shuttle, how many-" Iolo had asked, in the end, and it'd been Poe who'd said, harsh,  _don't_.)

Muran had volunteered for this, after all, and thinking about the way he'd gone out, his X-Wing burning up in the exhaust of the freighter jumping to hyperspace, maybe that was easier than thinking about the people caught in the crossfire.  _Innocent_ , Poe had kept thinking, and when it came down to it, Muran was that too. Just someone else caught in something much bigger than any of them.

It'd been Karé who'd put on the music, chosen something with a hard beat and no lyrics. Nothing tragic. Not music appropriate for a wake or a funeral or some respectful memorial. Poe might have heard it in a bar once, some shitty little pilot dive full of smoke and pretty Resistance fighters. Muran was gone, and Poe had known they'd face that later, deal with the missing space in their squad like they were trained for it, but with spirits stinging his throat and terrible music loud around them, dancing had been inevitable, and maybe it'd even been _good_. Warm blood under his skin, adrenaline not so very different from piloting an X-Wing through a skirmish deep in unclaimed space, and dancing hard and breathless and alive.

The next time, it'd been in a Resistance hangar on the _Edge of Hope_ , and they'd been shaking off what felt too much like desertion, trying to find something familiar in a rebel base that wasn't familiar at all. Then Red and Dagger Squadrons had joined them, and the time after that, Blue and Stiletto, and then the Starfighter ground corps. And now, the hangar parties have a life of their own. D'Qar base staff trading terrible home-distilled whisky for vials of Corellian body glitter, and people conferring in hushed tones about the next playlist, and what Poe knows is a lively market in Resistance fashion holozines. (Flowing white dresses are always popular, hooded or not, and Poe's seen General Organa smirk more than once at some of the sheerer ones.) And Poe's sitting here twisting himself into knots thinking about how to tell them what these parties are.

It's not the first party since the attack on Starkiller Base. But it's the first since Finn woke up, the first since the Millennium Falcon roared back into D'Qar with Rey fierce-eyed at the helm and Luke Skywalker in tow. And, Poe admits to himself a little bleakly, the first since he looked at Finn's smile and Rey's shoulders and realized he was neck-deep in trouble of the loving kind. They're so young - they're  _too young_ \- and although he knows objectively that a little dancing and club music and spirits brewed under someone's bunk is not going to be the death-knell of their innocence, he can't help but feel a little embarrassed about explaining the whole thing.

It turns out he doesn't need to. 

"Heard there's gonna be a party this weekend," Finn says easily over breakfast. "About time, I mean, I was beginning to think the Resistance was so morally upright we'd never cut loose. All that 'decadent and loathsome Resistance' talk we got in trooper barracks, and I have to tell you, I haven't even seen  _one thing_ I was promised."

"...Huh," Poe says weakly, once he's swallowed the mouthful of caf threatening to choke him. "Yeah. Morally upright, that's us."

"What's a party?" Rey asks, and Poe can't help but drop his head onto the durasteel table.

 

Poe knows he's pretty. It's practically a running joke in the Starfighter corps nowadays, Poe Dameron and his curly hair and pretty mouth, Poe Dameron letting himself go in the music and lights and press of skin. It doesn't stop him spending longer than he should fixing his hair, torn with indecision over the two pairs of civvy trousers he owns. He wonders, with a certain level of amusement, whether eyeliner is taking it too far.

(It's not. Or, it might be, but he draws it on anyway, smudges the line when his fingers shake just a little too much. It's just a party, and he's ten years past the age where a crush like this is tolerable or allowable or even appropriate at all, but this is hardly the first bad decision he's made tonight let alone this week.)

He doesn't know what he's hoping for. Not to take them back to his bunk, not even to press kisses along the corner of Finn's mouth or find out what Rey's skin feels like against his. He just- he  _wants_ , feels it buzz under his skin. He hasn't even had anything to drink, yet. It doesn't matter. He's sunk in it. His hands shake again, and he wonders when he lost his nerve, whether Ren pulled it out along with all the other Resistance secrets Poe was trying too hard to protect. He hadn't met Finn or Rey yet, then. This secret, at least, Ren doesn't get to own.

Pava gives him an appraising look when he shows up late but she doesn't say anything, just passes the bottle of whisky as he slides into the bench seat across from her.

"Looking good, Dameron," Karé calls, and Poe grins, takes a long swallow of the whisky, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Where are Rey and Finn?" he yells over the music. "Thought they'd be with you." Jess points into the crowd and Poe squints through the shifting lights, the bodies moving to the beat. When he sees them, his mouth goes abruptly dry.

"Seems like they get the point pretty well," Jess murmurs. Shifts in her seat, uncrosses and crosses her legs. Poe nods abstractly, takes another pull of whisky, barely feels her take the bottle from his hands. He's too caught up at the sight of Finn and Rey both. Her hair's loose and Finn's got his fingers tangled in it and Poe can't stop looking at the way Finn is  _moving_. He's all muscle and smooth skin gleaming against the plain black singlet he's stripped down to. The hangar's warm already with this press of people. Poe wonders how long they've been dancing like this, whether Finn untied Rey's hair for her, brushed it out long and smooth.

"You're staring," Iolo teases, nudges Poe's shoulder with his own, and Poe jumps, slumps back against the wall, steals the whisky back.

"How long've they-"

"Long enough," Iolo tells him. "Believe me. I'm pretty sure you're not the only one harboring a hopeless crush, after tonight." Poe hides his face behind his hands.

"Seriously?" he asks. "Does _everyone_ -"

"Pretty much," Iolo says. "Except  _them_ , probably."

"Fuck," Poe mutters, necks the whisky. Iolo pats him sympathetically on the shoulder.

 

By the time Finn and Rey take a break, Poe's a little dizzy with the heat and the whisky and the aching arousal of watching them move. He'd usually be dancing before now, feels a little reluctant tonight. Dancing means being even closer, and he doesn't quite know whether he wants them to drag him in between them or whether that'd just make it a hundred times worse.

"Shift up," Rey says peremptorily, throws herself down next to him, and Poe takes a sharp breath, bites his lip. He can smell her sweat, can see how gloriously tangled her hair is. It's difficult not to react.

"Some party," Finn says. "More like what I was expecting, for sure."

"The degenerate Resistance, that's us," Poe agrees. "I, uh. I didn't know Stormtroopers danced."

"Oh," Finn grins. "They don't. It's not  _hard_ , though. To pick it up."

"Like fighting, right," Rey agrees, and Iolo smirks, nudges Poe's shoulder again.

"That for sure was not  _fighting_ they were doing just now," he mutters, and Poe hides a smile, runs his hand through his hair.

"Having a good time?" he asks, offers them both the whisky. Rey drinks but Finn doesn't, and Poe catches himself watching the line of her throat as she swallows, the way she wraps her lips around the mouth of the bottle, her eyes closed against the bright lights. When he glances back at Finn, he'd swear Finn was watching him watch Rey, and there's something he can't identify in Finn's gaze before Finn blinks and Poe looks away.

"It's too hot," Rey complains, piles her hair up into a messy knot and lets it fall again. "I shouldn't have let you talk me into leaving it out," she says reproachfully to Finn, and he shrugs apologetically, brushes a strand back from her face.

"I-" Poe says, "uh, let me?"

"Sure," Rey says, "go ahead," and Poe pulls the lacing cord out of his shirt, gathers her hair up again, ties it into a bun. Tries, very hard, not to think about the feel of it damp with sweat, the way he can't help but skim his fingers over her shoulders, the nape of her neck.

"Come on," Pava says abruptly. "I want to dance, Dameron." She's yanking him onto the dance floor, sliding into movement as easily as she flies an X-Wing, and Poe rests a hand on her hip, catches the beat, lets himself move. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Rey and Finn stand up again. Tries not to notice. Fails. 

The music's all dirty beat and grinding rhythm and it's too easy to lose himself in it, except for how distracted he is watching the way Rey and Finn move together. Their hips are pressed flush, Finn's skin slick with sweat and Rey's shirt damply transparent, and Poe feels his own breath catch.

"Oh  _Poe_ ," Jessika says, gentle and mean and a little bit pitying all in one, and Poe would resent it if he wasn't agreeing. "I can't watch you pine like this for another second, it's painful. You want to come back to my bunk with me?"

"Yeah," he says, throwing back one last shot of whisky and wincing at the burn, and it's not the first time he's slept with Pava, nor the second. He knows what she likes, and she knows how to tug at his hair, and when he comes with his teeth at her throat and her nails digging crescents into his shoulders, it feels good. Mostly good. A little debauched, maybe, a little like he's living up to the stereotype of the Resistance, but feeling it under their skin, it's good enough.

 

The next time, the next party, Finn's shirtless entirely, and Rey's got eyeliner smudged dark and beautiful along her lashes, and Poe goes home with Bastian and Karé both. Lets Karé slap him in the mouth until he's floating with the pain of it and can't think even a little bit about pretty orphans much too young for him.

The time after that, he considers skipping it. Then Finn looks seriously at him the morning before, and Poe finds himself promising to be there before he knows what's happening.

He doesn't dress up, this time. Goes straight from the war room to the hangar, thinks he'll only stay long enough for politeness' sake. Pava and Iolo are running a mission out in the Chandrila system, and even though Snap passes him a flask of something strong, he doesn't feel in the right headspace, is happy to lean against the wall in a far corner and let the music wash over him. It's a new playlist tonight, all seductive melody and tangled haze of noise, and without meaning to Poe feels himself sinking into it.

"Poe," Finn says, or maybe it's Rey, and they're taking his hands, pulling him into the dance floor, crowding him in. Finn's behind him, his hands on Poe's hips, and Rey grins, steps in close.

"Hello," she says, "why haven't you danced with us yet, Poe Dameron? We've been  _waiting_."

"I-" Poe says, pauses, and Rey puts her palms on his chest, shoves him back into Finn's solid weight. The music slows down, spins out breathy and smooth, and Poe can't focus, can't _breathe_  for how Finn's grinding up against him and Rey's sliding in closer all soft curves and sharp teeth.

"Come on," she says, "come  _on_ ," and the challenge in her voice is almost as good as a slap to the face. "I know you've been wanting," she tells him, "did you think we were blind, seeing it on your face?"

"We wondered why you just _watched_ ," Finn agrees. "Thought that was maybe all you wanted."

"But  _we_ think," Rey continues, and gods, she's sliding her fingers up under the cotton of his shirt now, playing with the hem of it, brushing his stomach very lightly, and her hips are moving in long, sinuous circles against his. Poe's so turned on he feels like his brain is misfiring with it, especially once Finn catches his wrists, holds him tight.

"We think," Rey says, leaning up until her mouth is against his. "You want  _us_."

"Do you want us, Poe?" Finn asks, murmuring into his ear. Poe feels Rey's teeth grazing his lower lip, holds his breath. "Do you?"

"Yes," he admits, tired of fighting it. "Yes.  _Kriff_ , yes, and I-"

"Hmm?"

"I thought I was too old for you," he says, finally. "Too much... too, too damaged, too..."

"Poe," Finn says very seriously. "You're beautiful, but you're an  _idiot_."

He is. He's an idiot. He's been falling for them for months, desperate and longing and embarrassed. Worried about his own reputation and living right up to it.

"Fuck," he says, with feeling, and they both laugh.

"Yeah," Rey agrees, pulls Finn into a kiss around Poe. "Yeah, Poe,  _fuck_."

It's a party at the end of the world, maybe. With the music loud around them, all of them moving together so close there's no space between their bodies, it's unrestrained and hard and easy. Finn and Rey are pulling out all his secrets, and he can't control it at all, and when they kiss him, for the first time in months, Poe's not afraid. 

**Author's Note:**

> look I mean you just can't tell me that the only music the Resistance has is fucking cantina shit, they clearly have, like, the alien version of fka twigs & whatever trance music is popular in D'Qar, otherwise life is just not worth living
> 
> (join me on tumblr: notcaycepollard.tumblr.com)


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